American Idiot
by TheJoshuaTree87
Summary: In addition to his dangerous double-life, young Peter Parker must also withheld the secret of his harassment and mistreatment at school from Aunt May. But some secrets deserve to be shared and entrusted with family. A reimagined origin and introduction set before 'Civil War' and 'Homecoming'.


**This story was written and published before the release of _Spider-Man: Homecoming_ , therefore some plot elements (narrative, characters etc.) in this piece contradict the film's official canonical story and vise-versa.**

* * *

If only for a split-second, a moment of reverence reverberated through the young brunette boy's being before he collapsed on the cold, hard floor of the school's sports changing rooms. But the unbearable humming sensation clouding his perception could very well have been from the attack when the back of his skull impacted the metallic locker door.

The sound of intense cheering was faint but audible as Peter tried to regain control and composure. Just how had he managed to find himself in such a position; considering that somewhat unreliable early warning alarm in his brain altered him about any potential danger. Perhaps that was the source of the unrelenting sensation?

Time was not very forgiving on Peter for the young man could not process the events that had transpired for very long before a force impacted him in the shoulder, prompting another rouse of excitement from the surveying audience of fellow students.

Clutching his shoulder in desperation, with intense caution Peter eventually rose to his feet, inspecting the inside of the room for the source of the dilemma. He was abruptly enlightened on the situation after concentrating and witnessing a tightened fist directed towards him. With relief, Peter's warning alarm had managed to predict the action, and he avoided the fist, allowing it to collide with the locker door.

As his frequent harasser and rival Flash Thompson recoiled in pain, a fire erupted in Peter – anger and resentment he'd been able to suppress for some time during his incidents of victimising. But after all the physical punishment he'd received, he could control his impulse no longer and unleashed his suppressed anger with a swift, calculated punch to the boy's cheek.

If the crowd his male classmates weren't already ecstatic to watch an emerging physical fight, they certainly were after witnessing puny, pathetic Peter Parker retaliate with a strike of his own.

The recently acquired increased strength very well could have knocked the boy unconscious, so Peter was relieved (and frightened) to see his oppressor still active and on their feet, now clutching their cheek with burning vengeance visible in their eyes.

The danger alarm in his brain signaled once more, but Peter was too distracted to react. No less than a few seconds later was his collar clutched tightly Flash Thompson's fist as they pinned him against the locker.

As Flash raised the other available fist, Peter recoiled and clenched his eyes shut tightly; he hoped very much the increased durability he'd been blessed with would reduce the damage.

But no such impact arrived. In fact, his collar was released immediately after. Studying the now deathly silent locker room, Peter's eyes eventually fell upon the Physical Education teacher, visibly shocked by what they had supposedly witnessed – a physical confrontation between students.

As the teacher gestured for him and Flash to follow, immense relief enveloped Peter. Finally, Flash was about to receive the justice he deserved for provoking and attacking.

But the punishment that was applied was one Peter hadn't expected.

* * *

A detention. _He'd_ been punished with a detention. Peter Parker – the golden child notorious for his irritably well-mannered attitude and behaviour – had just been issued an after school detention. He was expected to wait behind after school for one and half hours for participating in an unprovoked assault he didn't initiate. Where was the justice in that punishment?

Peter couldn't recall the last time he'd received a detention. Honestly, he couldn't recall receiving one at all in his time at high school. Never once had he misbehaved (at least not in the presence of a teacher) so explaining this incident to his friends – well, _friend_ – was going to be challenging.

There was one notion that plagued him even more, however – how on Earth was he going to explain this to his aunt?

After electing not to return home via his _extended mobility_ – the last thing he wanted was to appear sweaty and exhausted in addition to humiliated – Peter caught the bus – as any other student his age would. The duration of the ride provided him with some time to revaluate the situation and process what and how he was going to approach Aunt May about his unpredicted punishment. Should he lie? Should he exaggerate the truth? Or should he neglect to tell her at all?

Peter didn't have long to think as the bus arrived accordingly outside his apartment complex. With a dismissive wave 'goodbye' to the bus driver, Peter exited the vehicle, entered the building and reluctantly began to ascend the stairs. The elevator would be too quick, and he still wasn't emotionally prepared to confront her.

Arriving outside his designated apartment door, Peter placed a hand over his shoulder to inspect the damage. A discomforting sensation signified the area of impact still hurt. He ventured that Aunt May's reaction, however, was going to hurt even more.

After summoning the courage, Peter tentatively turned the doorknob and entered.

Almost immediately after setting foot into the apartment, he was greeted with a welcome from his doting aunt and guardian, currently occupying the kitchen area. "Hey."

Peter answered politely. "Hey."

He watched as Aunt May placed the dishes she'd been washing down and turned to him suddenly with an eager expression. "So, how did it go?"

Unsure of what she was insinuating, Peter returned with a confused expression.

"How did you do? The test?" She emphasised with a smile. "You said you were up all night revising for it?"

Her explanation had successfully jogged his memory. And unbeknownst to her, he hadn't been revising exactly. Instead, he'd been far more occupied with pursuing an assailant who'd held up a liquor store. Thankfully, he recovered the stolen products _and_ managed to return in time for an hour of revision; not that it improved the results the following day.

"Oh, that." Peter shrugged his shoulders, carefully removing his backpack so it wouldn't grace the bruised spot. "Yeah. Good; not great."

Aunt May's smile faltered. "Did you struggle?"

He smiled weakly. "Not really. The multiple choice questions were pretty simple. But when it came to annotating and referencing the article attached - yeah, not so good."

"You didn't do so well?"

Peter shook his head softly, ashamed of himself to witness Aunt May appear so disappointed.

"Well" she smiled reassuringly, "now you know what to expect for the next test."

"Yeah, I hope so." He removed the chair form the table and lazily sat down. "Guess I wasn't as confident in my abilities as I thought."

Turning back to Aunt May, he was greeted with a warm smile. "If you want, I could contact the teachers if you're having difficulty?"

"Nah, it's fine. I know I can always talk with Dr. Connors about anything involving science." Reaching a hand into his bag, he removed a sheet a paper and brought it forcefully down on the table for emphasis. "The next assignment for Science", he announced exaggeratedly, "and if my knowledge of biology was limited, I know even less about herpetology."

"Herpe-what?"

"The study of reptiles", Peter corrected, "it's Dr. Connors' next class. He's pretty passionate about it."

"Well, you know I'm always available if you ever need help", offered Aunt May hopefully.

Peter returned the gesture with an appreciative smile.

After assessing the requirements of the assignment once more – a 1500 word count, good lord – Peter's eyes graced the cover article of the newspaper adjacent on the table – the latest issue of _The Daily Globe_. What caught his attention was an unflattering image of his alter-ego appearing as if he was escaping the scene of an arrest. Peter remembered the event vividly – he had done no such thing.

Scanning the paper, he located the name of the photographer responsible. _Well done, Mr. Edward Brock Jnr. You've made me look like the bad guy._

"Sorry, would you mind…?"

Turning back to Aunt May, he witnessed her gesturing towards the gathering collection of wet dishes waiting to be dried and placed away. Peter acknowledged her request, retrieved a tea-towel and assumed the position next to her.

For the next minutes, Peter exchanged his natural conversations with Aunt May, answering her questions about school honestly and to the best of his knowledge. This continued until her attention became affixed to small television adjacent them on the counter.

" _-making this, believe it or not, the fourth time the singer's baby was found driving her car. Now on to today's story: with sights of these so called 'masked heroes' becoming more and more frequent, a challenging question has arisen - is the city of New York steadily becoming a haven for masked vigilantes?"_

Peter too focused on the television, curious to hear about the story too.

 _"While sighting of super-heroes we know and identify are quite common in our beautiful city, there is one particular vigilante who's captured the public's eye. And at this moment in time, remains anonymous."_

A thrill raced down Peter's spine when he witnessed the mobile device footage of him ascending a building via the wall, as well as another that depicted him swinging front of a busy intersection to rescue a dog from being run-over.

 _"For the past months, citizens and eyewitness have reported spotting an exceptionally strong and athletic individual – most likely a male – performing incredible acts of heroism seemingly altruistically. While this type of behaviour is not uncommon, what separates this being from the others is their method of mobility; appearing to 'swing' and propel themselves from buildings with some sort of adhesive material. They can also be identified by their unmistakable bright red and blue outfit."_

The next shot depicted a brunette woman cradling a young girl by her waist. From the red eyes and tear-stained cheeks, she was visibly emotionally exhausted. Peter recognised her immediately.

 _"I don't know who they were but…but they came out of nowhere and saved her. I don't know how they knew she was in danger …but if not for them… I just want to say...whoever you are, thank you."_

That incident would be one Peter would never forget. He didn't know what it was, but there was something in his mind – a voice, almost – that intently compelled him to examine the boardwalk fairground. Doing so, he discovered a crowd surrounding the Ferris-wheel and a young girl trapped inside a capsule that appeared to have malfunctioned – one that was about to disassemble.

It was a simple rescue, in hindsight. After some encouragement, the girl eventually accepted his hand as they gently descended to the ground's surface. While the crowd of citizens greeted him with a polarising response – some cheered, some recoiled with fear – the young girl's mother nearly suffocated him with a hug. Peter would never forget the time he cradled the weeping mother into his chest. Never before had he received such praise for his work.

 _"While many commend this masked hero for their services, others are not so welcoming of another super-hero patrolling our streets. We asked you – the viewers at home – to provide your consensus, and our online survey concluded with over 62% in favour of the vigilante being unmasked and identified."_

Such news was very confronting to Peter. While he knew instinctively from the inception of his masked identity that not everybody was going to approve, he didn't anticipate so many would disapprove of his actions.

 _"One such of these advocates is the executive publisher and editor-in-chief of the Daily Bugle, Mr. John Jonah Jameson, who for the past months has documented and reported on this masked man's practices in the newspaper -and has stood out as one of the most vocal against this individual's heroic services."_

Peter was suddenly treated to one the most confronting images he'd ever had the displeasure of seeing – a middle aged gentleman with a thick moustache and an even thicker cigar extended from his lips.

 _"I respect what this man is trying to accomplish - I really do - but the power and authority to execute law enforcement belongs in the hands of the law, and not some masked menace trying to make a name for himself!"_

"He's such a grouch, isn't he?"

Peter reaffirmed Aunt May's observation. "Yeah, imagine working for him."

 _"'Menace' is but one of the words Mr. Jameson has used to describe our anonymous hero."_

The newspaper tabloids were certainly not a source for positive validation. _He_ was considered a menace? Even more so than 'Killer Kasady', the psychopath who murdered over a dozen innocent people? Peter seriously couldn't understand the paper company's values.

 _"Everything - every single article we print here at the Bugle doesn't get published without my consent, and everything I've said about this so-called 'hero' is my honest, unfiltered opinion. He's an outlaw. A menace! A threat to public health and safety! Him and all the other superheroes are all alike – they're all the same. They take the law into their own hands and never account for all the damage they inflict in the process."_

 _"So would you compare our…'swinging man' to the likes of Captain America?"_

 _"Captain Steve Rogers is a national treasure and a proud American citizen – a symbol of hope and justice! He protects the innocent; not this wall-crawling freakshow!"_

 _"No further answers were provided by Mr. Jameson after he was asked to comment on Captain Steve Roger's recent arrest in Bucharest, Romania. Coming up later on the program: could fusion powered energy become the superior alternative to electricity, and could we see it integrated into modern technology? We sit down with Dr. Otto Octavius as he discusses his scientific vision."_

"Just what this city needs" mused Aunt May dryly, "another superhero."

Muting the television, Peter turned to her, curious as to what she was insinuating by her tone. "What do you mean?"

Aunt May answered with a shrug. "We already have enough as it is. I don't think we were in desperate need of any more. We already have enough patrolling the streets at night."

Peter still couldn't quite understand her explanation. Sure, some of the New York individuals – specifically the ones who allegedly operated in Hell's Kitchen – were sometimes unstable in their methods, but Peter knew they meant well. At the very least, he knew _he_ meant well.

"You don't…support them? Do you actually believe what Mr. Jameson says?"

She shook her head softly with a smirk. "No, not at all. I can assure you there's very little myself and Mr. Jameson could agree on. I think what's being said about this new fellow in the Bugle are gross overstatements." Her smile disappeared. "That being said, the gentleman is somewhat right."

Aunt May removed the drain-plug from the sink. "I do support what they're trying to do, I really do. They protect the innocent and defend us from those who would harm us, and for that we owe them a great deal of debt." She hesitated. "But I…I don't still don't feel terribly safe in their protection."

"Why?" Peter reluctantly inquired more.

The brunette woman offered a weak smile. Peter ventured this approach was because of her knowledge that he idolised a lot of the superheroes.

"I appreciate everything they've done – the Avengers, I mean" she began, "but the casualties in Sokovia and Nigeria only reinforce what I've always secretly thought of them: these super-powered people – they're dangerous. They think just because they have incredible powers, they're allowed to do whatever they want. The world just doesn't work that way. It's like Ben would always say, 'with great power comes great responsibility'. _That's_ a principle the Avengers urgently need to understand."

Although it wasn't the answer he hoped for, Peter did understand her explanation - and he'd be lying if he said he too hadn't felt afraid in the presence of the Avengers. He and Aunt May had been there for the attack in New York City when Thor's brother intended to open a portal through the sky and unleash an army of alien creatures. It was a very frightening experience – one that they would not forget.

Peter only wished she hadn't repeated Uncle Ben's quote – it was a message that would endlessly haunt the young man for the rest of his days. Peter had never quite understood the philosophy until Uncle Ben's untimely death – the incident Peter could have prevented.

What comes with power is also responsibility, and Peter understood that principle intimately well. Maybe Aunt May was right; maybe the Avengers had become quite irresponsible with how they exercise the abilities. Peter knew their intentions were pure and honest, but he could also understand why innocents like her couldn't.

"You don't trust them?"

"No, not really." An impish smile suddenly appeared. "Well, except Thor." She sighed blissfully. "I would seriously endanger my _own_ life if I knew he would be the one to rescue me."

Her amusing remark brought a smile to Peter's lips; he understood why the adoring public (predominantly females) idolised the Asgardian for one reason or another.

This newfound insight didn't provide Peter with enough reassurance, however. After all, if she disproved of superheroes everybody knew by their real identities, he couldn't imagine how she'd react if she knew her nephew had been dressing up and performing heroic acts as well. Peter desperately needed her validation.

"Well, what do you think of this new guy?" Peter gestured towards the newspaper on the table. "He seems alright. I mean – he hasn't injured anybody, as far as I know. Yet."

"It's not that I don't support what – he? - they're trying to do. It's just…they're still dangerous, regardless of what side of the law they operate on; The Avengers and…'rope guy' or whatever we're supposed to call him."

Hoping to hear her express her curiosity, Peter elected now was the best time to reveal the superhero identity he had spent weeks revising on in his brain.

"Spider-Man", he corrected triumphantly.

A disillusioned smile appeared. "Spider man?"

"With a hyphen. It's what everybody's calling him at school."

"Spiders? As in the creepy-crawlies?"

He nodded once more, which was accompanied by a quiver of disgust from Aunt May.

"I think it's pretty appropriate."

"It's not the most reassuring name. I mean - what does this…spider person do? Does he bite people? Does he poison them or something?"

Peter smiled bashfully. "Well, no. I don't _think_ he does. And it's venom, actually. Spiders produce venom; not poison."

Aunt May rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean. And call him whatever you want. Call him 'rope man', 'swinging guy', 'the man who can climb anything'; they're all better than 'Spider-Man'. Don't we already have enough heroes named after insects?"

"Arachnids" whispered Peter shyly, "spiders are arachnids; not insects."

"…Right, of course."

It was only after receiving another person's opinion did Peter understand that perhaps 'Spider-Man' wasn't a name that inspired trust. After all, spiders themselves aren't terribly popular. But while his identity may have sounded impure, his intentions were anything but.

"I…think he might be one of the good guys", Peter offered with a weak smile, "somebody that actually, y'know, surveys they area for civilians before engaging."

Aunt May acknowledged with a small smile, visibly unconvinced.

Peter was determined to enlighten her that his alter-ego was not a threat.

"He's been sighted in Queens pretty frequently. Maybe this area is his base of operation or something. He _seems_ alright. Everybody at school talks about him. He's even been spotted swinging by the school. _I've_ never seen him."

His reassurance was proving remarkably ineffective as Aunt May continued to study him, evidently confused as to why he was defending a masked vigilante so passionately. Peter hoped ever so much hadn't revealed too much.

Sighing with defeat, Peter slouched deeper into his seat. "I trust Spider-Man." Peter hadn't meant to sound petulant; he'd only wished to reassure his uncertain aunt that he placed trust in the anonymous hero.

Returning his gaze, Peter was relieved to discover a small smile gracing his aunt's lips.

"Well, if _you_ trust them, I guess that means I do too." Aunt May brought a hand to her chin. "I suppose it is quite reassuring to know we have a guardian…spider watching over us." She sighed softly. "I don't like concept of the mask, however. I mean - what's he trying to protect by wearing a costume?"

Peter blinked with confusion. "Um…his identity?"

"I _know_. I can understand that. It's just…none of the superheroes we know have secret identities anymore – we know who each of them are; Tony Stark, Steve Rogers. I don't understand why this…spider guy feels as if he needs to conceal himself." She brought a hand to her chest with a boastful smile. "If were in his position – if I had superpowers – I wouldn't disguise myself. I'd let everybody know who I was. If everybody knew who I was, they'd have no reason to be afraid of me. I wouldn't have anything to hide."

Although he understood she was musing ingenuously, Peter still found himself processing her words. What she had said sounded incredibly irresponsible, and Peter knew this intimately well – for at one point, this had been his attitude when he first decided to use his newfound talents for a positive purpose.

Concerned by her words, Peter asked reluctantly, "what about me? Wouldn't you want to, y'know, hide me?"

Aunt May's smile slowly dissolved. "What do you mean?"

Before he could answer, Peter hastily retreated into his mind to find the appropriate words to express what he wished to discuss – words that hopefully wouldn't reveal any details about his other life.

Rubbing his arm uncomfortably, Peter began. "Say you were a superhero; say you did have a secret identity exposed to the world; what's to stop those who wanna hurt us from…kicking down our door and attacking us in our home?" He lowered his gaze. "What if they tried to come for me?"

Peter very much hated seeing his aunt in a state of such despair; evidently, she didn't anticipate such a confronting question.

"…I hadn't thought of that" she whispered. "Would they really come after _you_?"

"Who better to attack then their friends and family?" He hesitated before continuing. "If I _were_ a superhero, I wouldn't tell a soul – not a single person who I was. Because if I did – if they knew who I was – they'd be in danger. If my enemies knew who I was, they'd surely know about everybody I care about in my life." His voice became progressively softer. "They'd know about _you_ , and if something were to happen to you…"

His reflection came to a halt. Peter dreaded to conceive the thought of Aunt May being attacked by an unexpected assailant because of his recklessness and irresponsibility. This is why Peter was committed to keeping his identity secret: not to protect himself, but his aunt. He'd already been responsible for the death of a loved one; he wasn't going to repeat the mistake again.

"I think that's why this new guy insists on wearing a mask" concluded Peter hopefully, "maybe he isn't just protecting his identity, but everybody he cares about too."

It felt almost therapeutic to share this – a principle he'd operated by ever since he adopted the superhero alter-ego. Although speaking from a place of truth – he was the anonymous hero in discussion, after all – the words he shared still very much reflected how he felt about Aunt May and her safety. He only hoped she would understand his reasoning.

Peter's reflection was interrupted when Aunt May assumed the seat beside him, resting a hand upon his knee and rubbing it softly.

She offered an apologetic smile. "Now _that_ I can believe and understand."

Infinitely relieved to hear she identified with his perspective, Peter returned the smile.

Aunt May returned to her feet with a confident smile. "Anyway, we'll ultimately see if this…Spider-Man is as spectacular as you proclaim."

 _Ultimately?_ Adding an adjective to his title sounded quite enticing, especially Aunt May's particular word choice.

"What about the 'Ultimate Spider-Man'?" Peter asked excitedly, eager for her opinion.

Instead of approval, he watched as she concentrated on the title before shaking her head with displeasure.

Peter nodded understandingly. "Yeah, you're right; spectacular is _so_ much better."

After announcing that she was preparing a load of washing, Peter acknowledged his aunt's request and Peter began to undress, wasting no time in offering his dirty clothes he had worn to school before retrieving a clean set of clothing items from the basket as well as his backpack and stationary items.

"Where did _that_ come from?"

The frightened announcement startled Peter as he turned to inspect the origin, only to discover a petrified expression on his aunt's face. Concerned as to what she was concentrating on, he traced her gaze to source of the alarm: the bruise decorating the back of his shoulder.

Panic and dread enveloped his being as he mentally punished himself for his stupidity. How could he have been so careless to expose the mark he was so desperately trying to conceal? Peter was starting to understand why so many teachers described him as 'easily distracted'. But this was no time to reflect on his mistake. Unfortunately, he knew it would have only been a matter of time before she discovered his injury; he only wished it had been like this.

As his aunt continued to stare expectantly and patiently, Peter elected to adopt the attitude he always relied on when being confronted – a method he'd depended upon during his short heroic career: comedy.

Peter smiled weakly. "I give up. Where _did_ it come from?"

His aunt's concerned expression turned to one of stoicism. "I'm being serious."

"W-would you believe me if I told you I woke up with?"

"No, I would not believe that."

His attempts at humour were proving remarkably ineffective, so Peter abandoned the charade. Retrieving his shirt, he began to pull it over his head. "It doesn't matter" he whispered, "it doesn't hurt."

He hesitated when Aunt May suddenly closed the distance and placed a hand over the mark. "Doesn't matter? You've got a bruise the size of a plate."

Peter recoiled from her touch; not because it hurt, but because he was not prepared to share the experience of how he received such an injury. He knew she would overreact for sure.

"It's not important."

Aunt May, however, stood defiantly. "If it's so unimportant that you won't mind telling me how it came to be, will you?"

If it were under any other circumstance, Peter wouldn't have hesitated to explain his injury, because he really hated seeing Aunt May in such a state of despair. However, the truth would not benefit her at all. She couldn't know the truth.

"…I can't tell you."

He watched as his aunt glared uncharacteristically. "You can and you will."

Peter suppressed an agitated exhale. "I _can't_."

"You left home this morning without so much as a scratch on you. Am I to believe you…received that without knowing how?"

Peter saw an opportunity for another joke. "Yes?"

Aunt May shook her head displeasingly. "This isn't funny." She placed a hand over her chest. "Please, answer me."

After studying the hurt on her face, Peter couldn't bear to see it any longer and turned away, remorseful and disappointed that he'd begun to lie to his aunt – the person he trusted in his life more so than any other.

"Peter."

Closing his eyes, Peter loathed himself for lying even further. "…I fell."

Evidently, his exaggerated answer wasn't accepted as Aunt May stared, visibly unconvinced. "You fell?"

Peter raised his hands in defeat. "I fell over on the way to school, alright? I…I tripped. I fell over, like I said. Nothing else happened." He desperately pulled this shirt over his chest. " Look – can we just move on and forget about it?"

"No, we will not." Aunt May hesitated before continuing. "I know you better than anybody else. I _know_ when you're lying. Please, tell me the truth. What happened? Please?"

The anguishing her whispering tone was unbearable. Her fear and concern only reinforced that Peter could not tell her.

He lowered his gaze reluctantly. "…I can't tell you."

"Why not?" Aunt May replied urgently.

"Because you're gonna…!" Peter immediately stopped himself, having realised he'd let his impulse control him.

An unbearable session of silence enveloped the room. Peter could only watch as his aunt visibly concentrated before whispering fearfully, having arrived at the probable conclusion.

"Were you attacked at school?"

Peter's entire body tensed. How had she deduced that without so much as word from him? Then again, she did state she could read him very well. Regardless, Peter saw no reason to overreact. So what if he had participated in a physical fight? They weren't uncommon in high schools.

"I wasn't attacked, it was just…"

Peter sighed with exhaustion. Why did she have to find out?

"Look, it's honestly-"

"Honestly _what_?" Aunt May interrupted as her eyes desperately studied him. "Acceptable?"

"This isn't the first time!"

Now Peter understood why so many of the criminals he apprehended insisted on him keeping his mouth shut. If not for her company, Peter would have brought a palm to his face for punishment.

"You've been assaulted repeatedly?" Aunt May stared, visibly shocked by such news. "H-how many times? Is… _this_ …common!?"

The escalating tension was palpable, and Peter couldn't bear it.

"It doesn't matter", he reaffirmed seriously.

"It does matter!"

Now inches apart from one another, the distance was separated when Aunt May abruptly turned face and retrieved the portable phone.

Peter watched with uncertainty. "What are you…?"

Aunt May's attention was focused on the sticky-note of assorted phone numbers attached to the fridge as she hastily entered the numbers. "I'm calling the school."

Peter's heart skipped a beat as he extended a hand desperately. "No, don't…!"

"This has gone long enough" she announced sternly, bringing the device to her cheek. "This is bullying and harassment, and it stops now."

"Please don't call them!"

His pleading was in vain as the soft dial tone was then followed by a female voice.

"Good afternoon. This is May Parker – Peter Parker's guardian. I'm calling on account of a…"

The young man's impulse influenced him once more. Summoning his superhuman reflexes, Peter swiftly confiscated the phone and disconnected the call before recoiling and preparing himself for the inevitable.

"Peter!"

"Please, just listen to me-"

Aunt May extended her hand. "Give me the phone."

Peter did not and continued to plead. "Listen-"

"Now!"

Peter exhaled with frustration. "You're not…"

"Peter Benjamin Parker, you return the phone right now!"

"You're just gonna make it worse!"

His unexpected exclaim brought the older woman to silence as she recoiled, evidently unprepared for such a reaction.

Peter was beyond reason at that point. After everything he had been subjected to that day, nothing was going to stop him from expressing his anger – even if it was directed as his aunt.

"Don't you think I've tried speaking with the school before? Nothing helps. Nothing! They do nothing! It's pointless! Nothing happens! The other students – the people that target me - they receive a punishment like a lunchtime detention, and then they go straight back to their old ways. Nothing works. It doesn't change them. _Nothing_ can be done!" He addressed her directly in the eyes.

It was only after a moment of refrain did he realise how he had behaved; he'd been seen so desperate to emphasise his distress that he hadn't realised he'd verbally assaulted his unsuspecting aunt. And from her wounded expression, she clearly didn't handle it.

Hurt by her demeanour, Peter lowered his gaze. "I can't – I _won't_ let you call the school. Because if Flash and his friends find out, they'll…"

He couldn't continue and fell silent.

"Then what am I supposed to do?" Aunt May whispered fearfully. "Am I just supposed to stand back and let my nephew continue to be victimised?"

Peter sighed exaggeratedly. "Yes."

He was treated to a despondent shake of disapproval. "I'm not going to."

"You _have_ to. Trust me, nothing can be done."

"Peter…"

He sighed bitterly. "Besides, the situations already been dealt with. We received an after-school."

" _We_?"

He forcefully shut his eyes for revealing yet another detail.

He watched as Aunt May approached him, visibly overwhelmed to have heard something like that. " _You_ were punished? For what? Being the victim?"

Peter remained silent.

The despair on her face and in her tone disappeared as Aunt May whispered seriously. "Did you retaliate?"

Peter didn't answer.

" _Did you retaliate_?" She repeated sternly. "Did you hit him back?"

He averted his eye contact.

"Answer me."

"I was defending myself." He whispered dryly. "He's fine. He's a football player; he can take a hit."

From her concerned demeanour, Peter could understand what he had confessed must have been very confronting for her.

After a moment of unbearable silence, Aunt May finally responded. "You really shouldn't have", she whispered.

"And what was I supposed to do? Just sit there and take the punishment? You should be encouraging me to stand up for myself. He deserved it anyway."

"That's no reason to hurt somebody." She shook her head softly. "You're so much better than that."

Peter whispered bitterly beneath his breath. "Well, if I'm such a golden child then why do they insist on humiliating me?"

His final remark was the one Peter wished he hadn't expressed more than any other, and the anguish that developed on his doting aunt's face was a sight he loathed himself for evoking. Finally deciding he had caused enough harm for one evening, Peter elected to end their discussion.

Before he could let his aunt speak, he announced weakly, "I've got homework", before turning face and placing the phone on the kitchen bench. "Call the school if you must; it won't solve anything." He exited down the short corridor and retreated into his room – all without so much as a glance back towards the woman he'd just abandoned.

* * *

Peter suppressed the urge to slam his bedroom door, rationalising that inflicting his anger upon the apartment wasn't going to achieve anything. Peter elected to release his anger by dropping his backpack and collapsing onto his bed.

He'd lied earlier; there wasn't any homework urgently due – he'd finished all the work during class. Peter couldn't motivate himself to work on any of his projects; instead he found himself reflecting on the intense confrontation with Aunt May. As if he didn't already have enough troubles occupying his mind– what with that early warning danger alarm buzzing in his brain twenty-four seven.

Emotionally exhausted, Peter returned to the activity he always found himself performing when he was troubled: he stared at the ceiling of his room and reflected.

With much relief, Peter remembered he'd locked the bedroom door. Now in privacy, felt secure enough to release his emotions. Every so often, the young man would raise a sleeve to his eyes as he continued to reflect upon the incident.

Just what had he gotten angry about? Aunt May – for reacting how any normal parent or guardian would after discovering their child had been physically bullied? Peter very much loathed himself for overreacting, and only wished he'd informed her sooner about the issue before it became a routine at school.

A simple verbal argument was no cause for alarm but a physical confrontation – one he'd retaliated in – was something completely unheard of in their household. Never once had he ever expressed anything remotely violent. He didn't want to imagine what Aunt May thought of him now for hitting back. As if she wasn't already fearful for his life, she was also immensely disappointed in him as well. A part of him urged him to exit the room and apologise, but the dominating part of his being prevented any movements.

Peter hastily brought his palms to eyes to contain the emotions; the action proved ineffective. Concluding that dwelling wasn't going to reverse what happened, Peter was desperate to distract himself and retrieved his portable device from his pocket, electing to retreat into his music to escape his troubled conscience.

* * *

 _Nobody likes you / Everyone left you_

Peter wasn't somebody who often found himself 'identifying' with songs; he never wanted to sound like a contestant on a singing program who coincidentally has some sort of emotional story attached to every song they perform. But these simple lyrics resonated with him; as much as he wished they didn't.

It really did seem as if he couldn't accomplish anything – that there was nothing he could ever do that would make people respect and appreciate him, both in his normal and double life. As a teenager and school student, he was the victim of harassment and bullying, and as an up-and-coming superhero just trying to his powers responsibly, he was the subject of all sorts of slander and vitriol in the public eye and media.

Peter understood his boundaries very well; he knew he would never try to become something he knows he isn't capable of. He knew he wasn't ever going to be popular and he knew the city would never truly trust him one-hundred percent as Spider-Man. But the growing intensity in and out of school directed towards him and his actions was starting to mount and take effect. His oppressors were right; he would never accomplish anything. He _was_ an outcast, and he _was_ a masked menace.

The emotional self-reflection was interrupted by a knock at his door, accompanied by a gentle voice.

"May I come in?"

Instinctively, Peter wouldn't have hesitated, but under the circumstance he hesitated. It had been over an hour, and although he'd finally emotionally composed himself, he still wasn't completely prepared to speak with her; not after everything she'd discovered.

Pausing the music, Peter summoned what little courage he could and approached the door, softly unlocking it and returning to his bed, reluctantly watching his aunt slowly enter and offer a weak smile. Peter did not return it and remorsefully averted his gaze.

"It sure is dark in here." Peter could tell from her tone that she'd spoken nervously.

Peter gestured towards the wall-switch. "You can turn on the light."

Aunt May illuminated the room. "More like turn off the dark."

As the older woman approached and assumed a seat beside him on the bed, Peter felt his entire body tense. He had no reason to be afraid; it was only his aunt, the woman he lived with. The alarm in his brain didn't signify any imminent danger, so why did he feel as if he was in peril?

"How's the work?" He observed out of his peripheral vision as Aunt May gestured towards his worktable.

With his gaze affixed to the floor, Peter answered softly. "Finished."

"…Well done."

The silent tension was unbearable, and Peter didn't want to imagine what Aunt May wished to talk with him about. How he really wished they wouldn't talk about the incident. But Uncle Ben had always told him to accept responsibilities and atone for mistakes, so Peter did just that.

Breaking the silence, Peter announced remorsefully. "I'm sorry about I said. I...I didn't mean those things."

He was offered a reassuring smile. "It's alright. I know you didn't. But you had every right to be angry with me."

"I didn't. I honestly didn't."

The breath was sucked from his being upon witnessing Aunt May bring a finger gently to her eyelid, emitting soft trembling exhale. Her emotional display was enough to bring Peter to the state. How he wished he hadn't ever evoked this kind of fearful and despair in her.

"I'm really sorry for what happened to you."

Desperate to instill some hope and confidence, Peter smiled weakly. "It's not _your_ fault."

Aunt May smiled apologetically. "I think it is."

Peter couldn't understand why she blamed herself for what had happened during school. There was nothing she could have done to prevent it. She only could have intervened if he'd told her earlier rather than concealing it. There was nobody else accountable than Peter.

After a moment of inactivity, Aunt May whispered softly. "You know I love you, don't you?"

Peter acknowledged with a nod. "Yeah."

"Well, I…I don't think I tell you enough."

"You don't need to", Peter reassured, "I know you do."

Aunt May nodded with defeat, and Peter observed as she rubbed her thigh uncomfortably, visibly distressed.

"It's the reason why I…behave…the way I do."

Peter couldn't interpret what she was understanding, and instead listening quietly and attentively as she continued.

"I didn't mean to…freak out. It's just…when I hear about _this_ – when I hear about how you're treated at school – I can't help but think…it's my fault." She exhaled remorsefully, placing a hand over her chest. "I can't help but think…I were a better parent-"

Peter interrupted her. "It's not _your_ fault. You've done nothing."

"And that's the exactly why this keeps happening", declared Aunt May, anxiously running her fingers through her hair. "I should be…comforting and supporting you, but I haven't. I've just been standing back and surveying my nephew's torture."

Peter laughed nervously. "Torture _may_ be an overstatement. Nobody has strapped me to a Rack before. Well, not yet at least."

Witnessing Aunt May's tearful smile was enough to bring him to a similar state. If there was any sight powerful enough to bring him to tears, it was indisputably witnessing Aunt May frightened or despondent.

Peter hadn't realised he'd been crying until he felt the soft layer saturating his eyelids, which must have prompted Aunt to extend her hand and cradle his cheek, gently wiping the tears. Peter never anticipated such an intimate response.

Aunt May shook her head in disbelief. "Why you? Why do they insist on picking on _you_? You've done absolutely nothing to deserve this kind of treatment. You're so sweet and polite and caring. Of every student attending that school…" she retracted her hand, "why are _you_ always the victim?"

The answer was one Peter came to understand intimately well since his first year in high school.

Peter stirred uncomfortably. "Because I'm not like them. I'm not like other kids. I'm not…normal. I…I'm unfit, I'm uncool, I'm unpopular. I'm…I'm just a nobody." Without thinking, he brought his down upon his knee. "I can't do anything right. I'm just everybody's punching bag. I always have been and I always will be."

Before he could dwell any further, his attention was alerted to Aunt May who suddenly enveloped his balled fist, squeezing it gently. Peter was immensely disheartened to see her wounded expression.

"Stop this. Do you hear me?" She commanded softly. "You are to stop thinking these things about yourself. Do you understand?"

A verbal response couldn't be produced. Instead, Peter acknowledged remorsefully.

Aunt May's contrite demeanour reemerged. "All of that – none of it's true. What you've said couldn't be farther from the truth. I _know_ it isn't true." A small, hopeful smile appeared. "I know what you're capable of…because I've witnessed it with my very own eyes. I've seen it in you every single day since we adopted you."

Peter held his breath.

Aunt May laughed softly. "I remember Ben would always tell me that our nephew was going to change the world. I always tried reasoning with him that he was just exaggerating. But I see now that I was so very wrong to ever question his judgement." Her hand migrated from his hand to his thigh. "I know you're destined for many things, Peter. Many extraordinary things. And with your talents, I have every bit of confidence that you will change the world one day – in your own special Peter Parker way."

Unsure of how to handle such praise, Peter stirred bashfully. " _Now_ I think you're exaggerating."

A sheepish smile appeared. "Maybe. But _I_ believe in you."

A deep exhale emitted which prompted Peter to study Aunt May intently, fearful that she may regress once more.

"I know I haven't always been there for when you really depended on me", she nodded confidently, "but I promise from now I will be as committed and devoted as I can possibly be." She smiled weakly. "It's like what your uncle would always repeat about accepting and cherishing responsibilities. For the better part of my adult years, you've been my responsibility, and I need to understand that now more than ever."

Peter immediately shook his head to protest such a notion; she was anything but noncommittal.

Aunt May exhaled softly through trembling lips before addressing him once more. "I know you're not… _my_ child, technically. But you need to know that... although you're still my nephew to others, to _me…_ you've always been my son – the little man I always dreamed of raising."

With an accelerated heartbeat and a burning sensation gracing his cheeks, Peter could only stare in silent disbelief; not even his early warning arachnid alarm could have prepared him such evocative and touching. Never once had Aunt May ever expressed something like that – but after she did, Peter found himself reflecting and identifying with her confession. Biologically, she wasn't his parent. But as a wonderfully caring and compassionate guardian, she'd always been a mother figure.

The uncomfortable silence was broken by Aunt May's nervous laugh. "Sorry. That was - I hope I didn't freak you out."

Understanding her uneasiness, Peter shook his head bashfully. "No, it's fine."

After everything she'd professed, Peter elected it was only right that he did the same; she deserved to know much she meant to him. But before he could commence with his confession, an unpleasant scent graced his nostrils.

"Do you smell _that_?"

Panic enveloped Aunt May's face. "Sh*t!" Without warning, she abruptly rose to her feet and urgently exited the room.

Peter snorted with amusement; he knew because of their extended talk, she'd neglected to check on the lasagne she'd prepared for dinner. Following her into the kitchen, he watched as she recovered the meal from the oven as it sizzled menacingly.

Peter smiled. "What's the damage?"

Aunt May offered him a look at the plate; it did not appear very enticing. Disappointed and exhausted, she sighed with frustration. "It shouldn't be too bad to eat…if you don't mind it being a little overdone."

From her tone, Peter could tell she had no intentions in eating it, and neither did he. For a compromise, Peter offered another suggestion.

"You just wanna order pizza or something?"

Aunt May answered with a defeated nod. "Yeah, let's do that."

With her approval, Peter wasted no time in retrieving the take-home menu for their local pizza restaurant from one of the kitchen drawers, eagerly scanning through it to select a pizza that would satiate his hunger.

His exploration came to a halt when Aunt May appeared beside him, offering a hopeful smile. "There's something else I wanted to talk with you about."

Peter listened curiously.

She shrugged casually. "I was going to propose – in light of everything that's happened – we move 'Movie Friday' to tonight instead."

The announcement was unexpected but one Peter eagerly accepted. "Oh, really? Well, OK then. What…what do you want to watch?"

She smiled confidently. "I'll let you decide this time."

This prestigious offer was one that he didn't receive very often, and Peter did not want to waste the opportunity.

Raising his hands jokingly, he exited the kitchen and retrieved their television remote. "Alrighty then" he announced "but just remember that whatever I choose is non-negotiable."

"So long as it isn't graphic or violent. We don't want a repeat of last time, do we?"

"I wasn't scared" he protested jokingly, "I just have difficulty handing blood…and other bodily fluids."

An exaggerated laugh followed. "Well, then you have no idea what you're in for come the time when _you_ have a child to raise. There's going to be blood and vomit and _so_ much more."

"That's assuming I meet a girl and get married."

"Oh, you will, but only if she fulfills the criteria. I want to be certain this girl is suitable and eligible to court my nephew."

Peter couldn't think of a humorous response and instead laughed. If he knew Aunt May as well as he thought he did, she _would_ insist on assessing any girl he introduced to her.

There was certainly a selection of films available of Netflix that caught Peter's attention; _Seabiscuit, The Social Network_ , _The Impossible_ and many more were all highlighted and saved to watch at a later time. But Peter's exploration of the platform's collection came to a halt when he reflected on their previous exchange. It seemed as if nothing had ever transpired – as if everything they'd discussed had been accepted and moved on from.

There was no other relationship more pivotal and important in his life than his one with his aunt, and after everything that he'd confessed, he was certain she wouldn't be able to accept his turmoils. But after sharing one of their usual teasing exchanges, Peter was so infinitely relieved and overwhelmed that a separation hadn't been created between them.

Peter identified with her concern very much; he too believed he didn't enlighten her about how much he cares about her. But he concluded that after everything she'd said about him, she probably already knew.

So what if the kids at school and the writers at the Daily Bugle didn't appreciate him; as if their opinions should ever influence him. Peter was reminded that afternoon that he had been blessed to live in the household of the most caring, nurturing, supportive and incredible woman he'd ever known – somebody that loved and cherished him very much. And that's all Peter could have ever wanted.

* * *

48 – that's exactly how many tiles were arranged symmetrically on the ceiling. Peter counted the exact amount. After all, what else was he supposed to do during an after-school detention?

It was very much a new experience for him. The teachers instructed students to bring their laptops to perform some work on; any outstanding or overdue assignments. The teachers neglected, however, that Peter was a star student, somebody who had completed all his work prior to the punishment, leaving him with nothing else to do but occupy is time by studying the inside of the deathly silent classroom.

Save for two other people, he was totally alone. Opposite him at the front of the class was one of the science teacher who had been assigned to monitor the after-school detentions – and judging from their sluggish demeanour, Peter ventured they did not wish to be in their current position.

But adjacent to Peter was the very person he did not wish to be seated next to. Eugene 'Flash' Thompson slouched in his chair, absentmindedly cycling through his laptop's backgrounds, evidently disinterested in the piece of work beside him.

If it were any other student, Peter would have empathised with their boredom. However, he could never bring himself to identify with Flash Thompson - the captain of the school's Football team and self-appointed monarch of the campus.

Every so often, their gazes would meet. Flash glared angrily; Peter returned the expression. For the first time in a long time, Peter was not intimidated by his frequent harasser. Instead, discomfort and fear had devolved into resentment and bitterness.

They were only expected to stay behind until four-thirty; just a little under one and a half hours. But for Peter – without a proper source of work to distract himself – it felt like an eternity. All he could manage to do was reflect upon the incident, wondering how he of all people ended up in detention.

"…I'm sorry."

A whisper emerged beside him. Turing to inspect, Peter found Flash studying his laptop again, as if he hadn't just announced anything.

Peter stared curiously, and after a moment, Flash returned his attention with an uncharacteristically remorseful demeanour.

"…I said I'm sorry", he repeated.

From their insincere tone, Peter could tell they had said that halfheartedly. Unimpressed, Peter scoffed and returned to his laptop. "No, you're not."

"What?"

Peter shook his head absentmindedly. "I know you aren't sorry."

Flash turned accusingly. "Hey, I am."

"I can hear it in your voice. You're just saying that. You don't really mean it."

"Yeah, well I _do_ , y'know?"

Peter suppressed a sarcastic snort. "I predict no less than a week from now you'll be back to harassing and humiliating me as if nothing ever happened."

Flash himself closer threateningly. "Oh, what – like how you humiliated me in front of the entire class yesterday?"

"By what?" Peter asked incredulously. "Scoring eight consecutive three-pointers? Beating _your_ unbreakable record?"

Flash pointed accusingly. "Exactly! You made me look a d*ckhead!"

 _An even bigger d*ckhead_ , though Peter. He suppressed the urge to retort with a comeback, remembering that he wasn't currently wearing his superhero attire. "Well, now you know how it feels."

After a moment of inactivity, Flash returned to slouching in his chair, now folding his arms in mock concentration. "So, _this_ is what it feels like to be Parker? Wow. I can't say I enjoy it."

Peter exhaled angrily; why did the dribbling meat-head beside him always have to behave so immaturely. It really was a miracle how they'd managed to assume the role of the most popular kid in school, considering their lack of self-reflection and acceptance.

"I seriously don't understand why you flipped out" mused Peter dryly. "As if _you've_ ever felt threatened by _me_."

Peter watched as Flash concentrated on his words, evidently confused but still visibly distraught.

His mute reaction brought a smirk to Peter's lips. "Oh, what's wrong? Did I wound your pride?"

"Yeah, well not as bad as how I wounded you straight after class." He returned the sneering smirk.

Peter wasn't about to lose a verbal argument and retorted. "You sure showed me, didn't you?" He gestured to the boy's face. "How's the cheek?"

Visibly, the mark Peter had left from his fist was still present; the cheek continued to glow a faint red.

On cue, the boy brought a hand to his injury. "It's recovering", he mumbled. "Where'd I kick you? The chest?"

"Shoulder, actually." Peter corrected while applying pressure to the mark to inspect the pain. "And yes, it still hurts a little."

If only for a split-second, Peter swore he witnessed an expression of regret appeared on Flash's face before it swiftly disappeared. Instead, they returned to pouting stubbornly.

"This is all your fault, y'know?"

Peter suppressed the urge to scream, electing to express his disbelief and shock through his wide, unblinking eyes. "Are you serious? _Me_? I'm the reason we're both sitting in detention?"

"If you had just taken your medicine like a good little boy…"

"And what was I supposed to do? Just lie there and let you kick the sh*t out of me? You should've congratulated me for defending myself. It was just a bit harmless competition."

Flash inched closer menacingly, "you call that _harmless_? The next time we ain't gonna…"

Their escalating confrontation was silenced abruptly by the teacher, commanding them to cease speaking and return to their work. The announcement proved effective as Peter ceased arguing with Flash immediately.

For the next minutes, the dormancy and stillness in the room returned. Unfortunately, neither Peter nor Flash, as it appeared, had commenced with any school work. It was only after the teacher received a phone call on their device and politely dismissed themselves did Flash access his laptop and open a computer game.

Peter found himself distracted by the game, but not more than the wound on the young man's face which continued to glow vividly. Peter tried to dispel the developing remorse – after all, Flash had been the one to initiate the conflict – but May Parker hadn't raised a confrontational gentleman; Peter still shouldn't have retaliated.

With the classroom unsupervised, Peter elected then was the best time to inquire further about the injury.

"Does it still hurt?"

Flash paused the game and returned his attention, evidently confused. Peter gestured to the cheek.

Unexpectedly, Flash smirked jokingly. "Only when I smile."

The boy's innocuous remark also brought a smile to Peter's face.

A deep, sorrowful exhale emerged from Flash. "I'm really sorry, man."

There it was; there was the sincerity and honesty in his voice. Peter recognised it, for it was the same honesty Flash displayed when they were friends in their youth. During pre-school, Flash too had been one of the most popular kids, but then he used his status to become intimate with pretty much everybody else in the class, including Peter. He and Peter had been very good friend at one point; why _did_ they drift apart?

Peter acknowledged Flash's apology. "It's fine", he reassured.

"I'm serious", Flash protested, "I'm really sorry. I…I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Peter offered a weak smile. "Just my confidence."

Flash smiled with defeat, shrugging bashfully. "Yeah, well, I got what I deserved." He scoffed softly. "At the very least, everybody knows now not to ever pick a fight with you again."

In a sense, that was a positive to emerge from the experience. Perhaps after demonstrating what he was capable of, maybe other students wouldn't provoke Peter anymore; certainly not after hurting the invincible Flash Thompson. This notion didn't justify the retaliation, however.

After a moment of silence, Peter studied Flash as they collapsed back into their seat, shaking their head disapprovingly. "I seriously don't know why I do these things."

Peter knew the answer. Although it had been a rhetorical question – and he knew better than to provoke somebody while they felt disheartened – Peter still elected to share some insight; at least, some he'd gathered during his adolescence.

"To feel big?"

Flash slowly addressed him, visibly concerned. This encouraged Peter to elaborate.

Reluctantly, Peter continued. "To feel better about yourself? You think just because there's somebody smaller and weaker than you, that somehow gives you authority over them? W-would that be right?"

In hindsight, perhaps Peter had overstepped a boundary; he didn't mean to sound accusing. However, he was treated to despondent nod of acknowledgement from the typically energetic boy.

"Yeah, that's it." Unexpectedly, Flash brought a hand to his forehead and released a disgruntled exhale. "I'm such a f*cking ass***, y'know?"

Peter did not expect such a reaction nor did he approve of Flash's statement. Although a part of him was relieved that Flash was finally accepting his past transgression, it still upset Peter to hear them speak so unforgivingly about themselves.

Peter watched attentively as Flash abruptly addressed him urgently and desperately.

"D'ya ever feel like…you're on top of the world, but for all the wrong reasons? Like you don't deserve everything you've got?" He ran his fingers though his hair anxiously. "You ever do something…and you know it's wrong? You know you're hurting people by doing it, but you keep doin' it anyway…'cause it makes you feel better about yourself?"

Although he assumed Flash had proposed that rhetorically, Peter found himself identifying with everything the fellow student expressed; he never expected Flash of all people would be the one to help him reflect upon his own experiences.

Every time - every single time Peter put on the mask, he was making somebody's day miserable, whether he intended to or not. The people he apprehend and arrested – yes, they're criminals, and _yes_ , they deserve to be punished for their actions – but they're still people nonetheless; they're still people trying to achieve an honest living but through questionable methods. The money they steal; for all Peter knew, it could have been to provide for their families.

And every single time he apprehended one, he did so with a joking, patronising demeanour. But why? Peter certainly didn't derive pleasure from humiliating criminals, so why did he feel the need to tease and harass them? Was it because they deserved it? Or was it because Peter found way to channel his anger? Perhaps the reason he behaves he does is because of his own experiences? Is the suit – is the Spider-Man identity - just an escape from his normal, unpleasant life? Is it a method of fulfilling some abstract power fantasy?

Was the reason he became Spider-Man because of responsibility - because he needed to or because he wanted to? By publicly confronting, harming and humiliating criminals, was Peter unintentionally inflicting more harm than good? If nothing else, he was unintentionally harming Aunt May by risking his life and abusing her trust. Peter dreaded to imagine how she would be able to cope with the loss of her nephew.

"I _do_."

Flash turned to him curiously, prompting Peter to continue.

"I know exactly what that feels like." Peter answered sincerely and honestly. "Are you afraid of people thinking lesser of you?"

The boy shrugged weakly, all but confirming the question.

"I know what _that_ feels like too."

If supporting and comforting Flash Thompson of all people was the highlight of the detention, Peter's expectations for the punishment had been defied. A part of him still harboured some anger, but after everything Flash had confessed, Peter found himself reevaluating his opinion of the young man.

Flash acknowledged with a weak smile before exhaling with defeat. "Guess I'm not as untouchable as I think I am." He hesitated, "…you helped remind me of that."

Peter disagreed. "I still think you're pretty tough. If not for you, Midtown might've lost a majority of our games this season. You're the captain of the team for a reason."

Flash snorted. "Yeah, well, I'm not so tough anymore after you kicked my ass."

"You kick _my_ ass every other day."

He watched as Flash visibly concentrated on his words before returning his attention. The expression of pure determination was one Peter had never witnessed before from the boastful boy.

"Well, no more", declared Flash before he extended a hand. "Truce?"

Peter couldn't begin to process everything that was taking place. After comforting his constant harasser and oppressor, Peter had just been offered an apology and truce from the boy who derived such amusement from humiliating others. Peter studied the hand as if it were a foreign object; surely Flash was exaggerating.

The pleading desperation on the young man's face all but confirmed they had offered it in earnest – and Peter's early warning signal reassured him that Flash was not being deceitful. It was all very overwhelming to process, but this didn't dissuade Peter from finally making amends with his constant rival.

With a forgiving smile, Peter accepted the hand. "Truce."

Flash returned the gesture with an appreciative nod.

After a short exchange, the two released their hands and averted their gazes.

Peter was eternally grateful they two of them had been alone for their reconciliation; he didn't want to imagine the kind of gossip that would spread if somebody had discovered them holding hands. It was also a miracle the teacher supervising hadn't returned; if not, they mightn't have been able to confess everything they each wished to share. The universe must have been feeling particularly forgiving that afternoon.

Distracted by his thoughts, Peter hadn't noticed Flash retrieve an assignment sheet and calculator from his bag. Studying the boy out of the corner of his eye, Peter recognised the Maths assignment – and judging by Flash's demeanour, he was struggling to understand it.

"Is that last week's?"

Flash scoffed softly. "Try last month's. The teacher's been negotiating with Coach, saying if I don't submit something that's at least a pass, I won't be playing on the team anymore for the rest of the season."

Peter winced. "That's harsh."

Flash exhaled bitterly. "They've been riding my ass for days now."

Although it really wasn't his business, Peter's inner compulsion to assist and help others compelled him to offer the young man some support and guidance.

"It's actually a pretty simple equation" offered Peter as he studied the question Flash was concentrating on.

"Yeah, maybe for you" retorted Flash. "Lookin' at it makes my head hurt."

"I'm serious", declared Peter, inching his chair closer. "From what I can see, it appears as if you're just struggling with the division process."

After receiving the insight, Flash immediately brought the page closer for inspection, staring in bewilderment. "Is _that_ what it is?"

Peter suppressed a laugh after witnessing Flash's reaction. "Yeah. But don't worry; you're not the only one. A lot of people get stumped when it comes to Algebra. Even me."

Flash smirked. "I don't believe that. You're a nerd. You know everything." Shock appeared on his face. "No, I didn't mean…'

With a smile, Peter dismissed the comment. "I know what you meant. And you're right; I _am_ a bit of a nerd."

Flash smacked the paper for emphasis. "And the teachers say we're gonna be depending upon Algebra at least once every day for the rest of our lives."

Peter laughed. "Yeah, not even _I_ believe that. Come graduation, it's gonna be in one ear out the other."

"Yeah, tell me about."

Peter retreated into his mind for confidence before continuing. "I could help you with it…if you want."

Flash stared with confusion before protesting. "What? My Maths? Nah, man. It's fine. I'm not gonna ask you to do that."

"You're not asking me. I'm just saying…if you're ever unsure about a question or something, you're welcome to, y'know, ask me for help."

"…Like a tutor or something?"

Bashfully, Peter shrugged. "Well, not exactly. I mean - you don't have to if you don't want to. I was just thinking…"

Peter watched as Flash exchanged conflicted gazes between him and the assignment sheet. "…You sure you wanna help me? Even after…?"

With a remorseful exhale, Peter confirmed with a weak nod. "I know sometimes you give me a hard time…but I don't dislike you. I don't want you to fail or drop out of school."

He was speaking truthfully. Peter couldn't accept hating anybody; not even the boy who teased and harassed him frequently. Flash may have been arrogant and impulsive but he was still a fellow student, and a student in need of assistance.

After a moment on inactivity, Flash addressed him sincerely in the eyes and whispered, "if I do, it stays between us, alright?"

Expecting that response, Peter placed a hand over his chest. "I won't tell a soul. I promise."

Flash acknowledged. "Good."

Seizing another opportunity to extend the playful banter, Peter inched himself closer and whispered impishly. "You didn't hear this from me, but the teachers award extra marks if you include the equation and not just the answer."

Flash eye's widened with intrigue, evidently interpreting the ruse. "Oh, is that right?"

Peter affirmed, tapping his nose mischievously. "Remember, you didn't hear this from me; it's an industry secret."

"The secret's safe with me", Flash winked impishly.

Peter's eyes migrated to Flash's laptop and, more specifically, the unmistakable image of the elusive red-and-blue vigilante spotted in New York City. Much like him, Flash was very passionate about the Avengers; had Peter's secret identity become his rival's new idol?

"I like your background." Peter gestured towards the screen.

"Yeah, I downloaded this from the Bugle's website. He's pretty amazing, y'know?" He returned to Peter with a maddening smile. "Me and Kenny were at the mall a few weeks ago, and I sh*t you not, he friggen' swung right by! We saw him from the food-court. It was mental, man. Have you seen him?"

"Only on T.V."

Flash studied the screen intently. "Friggen' wish I was a superhero; like a secret agent or something."

Peter shrugged innocently. "Never say never."

The notion of Flash Thompson dressing up and fighting crime was quite amusing (and frightening). But if their extended conversation had proved anything, it was that deep down Flash was a good person. Peter could easily imagine Flash as a superhero albeit one not nearly as responsible and modest as others.

"I wonder if he's met any of the other heroes." Flash mused. "Do you reckon they'd let him in – into the Avengers, I mean? Imagine if Spider-Man fought alongside Hulk and Thor and that. How badass would that be?"

The very same thought had occupied Peter's mind for some time. Although at that point the notion seemed like a fantasy, with enough time he very well could capture the attention of the Avengers. They'd probably try to apprehend for taking the law into his own hands. And even then, if they were accepting new applicants, he doubted they'd allow somebody who hasn't even graduated high school fight beside them. But as Uncle Ben would often repeat, 'never say never'.

"It would be pretty cool", Peter answered with the same enthusiasm.

His unexpected reconciliation with Flash Thompson offered Peter a lot to reflect upon; all this information, however, was good news. Hearing positive validation from his former rival meant more than it really should have to Peter. If Flash Thompson of all people approved and welcomed his heroic services, than he must be doing something right. And somehow, he doubted hearing it from anybody else would be nearly as impactful and meaningful.

* * *

After inspecting the oven's settings to determine it was set at the correct temperature, May Parker was about to commence with the next article on her to-do list when she was treated to a gentle knock emerging behind the front door.

It was probably Max, she thought, the local electrician she contacted to repair the wiring in Peter's room. Or perhaps it was that lovely Mrs. Watson woman who just moved into one of the apartments on the floor below? May had shared a polite conversation with them as they ascended the elevator together. She recalled Mrs. Watson stating the family would arrive soon, including her daughter who was no older than Peter. Impishly, she couldn't wait to introduce her nephew to this potential partner.

Regardless, May adopted a welcoming smile to greet the visitor outside her door. But upon unlocking, the smile slowly dissolved from her face when she acknowledged and studied the unexpected guest. Needless to say, a middle-aged brunette gentleman with amber-tinted sunglasses was somebody she did not anticipate.

As the man smiled warmly, May struggled to find the appropriate words. "…Can I help you?"

The gentleman bowed politely. "Good evening. Is this residence of Mrs. Parker?"

May couldn't recall the last time anyone ever called her that; at least, not after Ben departed.

"I must have the wrong address", he mused, bowing once more before turning face, "I apologise for the disturbance."

Extending a hand, May urged for him to halt. "No, wait…!"

With his attention now affixed to her, May smiled apologetically. "I'm…I _am_ Mrs. Parker. Well, it's…it's Ms. Parker now."

Returning the smile, the gentleman placed a hand over his chest. "Please, forgive me for the insensitivity."

May waved dismissively. "No, it's fine. You aren't the first."

Curious as to why this man had sought out her home address personally, May returned to studying him. Despite the unfamiliar appearance, there was something unmistakable about him – some quality about him she recognised from somewhere. But as she concentrated on his confident smile, she reached a probable conclusion. But it couldn't be who she thought it was. Could it?

Nervously, May laughed in disbelief, uneasiness enveloping her over being the presence of a celebrity. "Sorry, are you… _him_? Are you really _him_?"

She observed as gentleman chuckled softly before adjusting his shades and seductively winking through the lenses. "Yes, how very perceptive of you. I _am_ indeed the lead singer of _U2_." He answered with an unconvincing Irish accent.

May didn't know whether to laugh or inquire more.

He removed his glasses and placed them in his pocket, shaking his head absentmindedly. "I'm sorry. I can impersonate over a dozen different accents but my Irish has never been terribly convincing."

Without the glasses obscuring his eyes, May was able to successfully identify him – as well as suppress an excited screech.

"Y-you had me fooled for a moment, Mr. Stark."

"Oh, please, there's no need for the formalities. My father – _he_ was 'Mr. Stark.' And I'm nothing like my father." He extended a welcoming hand. "You can call me Tony." He shrugged. "Or Iron Man. Whatever you prefer, honestly."

Bashfully, May accepted his hand, still trying to accept the fact that a multi-billionaire playboy philanthropist was currently at her door. It was only after a few seconds did she realise that she was still cradling his hand and sheepishly released it.

Summoning composure, May began to lean against the inside of the doorway to appear confident. "So" she smiled casually, "what can I do for you?"

The Iron Avenger brought a hand to his forehead. "Right, of course. I forget I'm on a tight schedule." He smiled hopefully. "Am I interrupting anything? May I come in?

How could May refuse the Iron Man himself? "Of course", she gestured for him to enter, to which he did as he glided past her and into the apartment.

Gently closing the door behind them, May still tried to process everything that had transpired. Not only had she just met one of the biggest personalities in the world –a real life superhero no less – but she had also welcomed him into his home! This was like some suppressed celebrity fantasy realised. She was going to be the object of everybody's envy for this.

As she silently observed the older gentleman inspect the inside of her home, he slowly began to migrate towards the kitchen.

Turning back to her, he offered a curious smile. "Now where on Earth is that intoxicating aroma originating from?" He inhaled before exhaling with exaggerated bliss. "Do I smell walnuts?"

May confirmed gesturing towards the ignited oven. "It's just the meatloaf I'm preparing for dinner."

Tony inspected the oven. "You know, I cannot recall the last time I had a walnut meatloaf."

"Would you like try a slice? You're more than welcome to have some when it's done."

The billionaire smiled appreciatively. "I would love to."

Excited over the prospects of Tony Stark – the Iron Man – trying one of her meals, May had neglected to offer the man a seat. As he gestured towards the couch in front of the television, May acknowledged before accompanying and sitting adjacent him.

A million questions she wished to ask him were racing through her mind, but she rationalised the most important one needed to be answered first before continuing any further.

May smiled reluctantly. "Is there…a reason why you've visited me today? I mean – is there anything _I_ can do for _you_?"

Tony Stark readjusted his position on the couch to face her, studying her with an uncharacteristically serious demeanour.

"I don't mean to sound intrusive" he began, "but when does your nephew arrive home from school?"

"Peter? Anywhere between 3:00 and 4:00." Panic and dread clouded her perception; just why on Earth did he wish to know? "Why?"

He answered with a polite smile. "I was wondering if I could speak with him privately."

May's troubled conscience arrived at the most frightening prospect. "What's he – is he hurt? Is he in trouble?"

After a small laugh was emitted, Tony shook his head reassuringly, "no, of course not" before pointing in mock accusation, "though he will be if he refuses my offer."

"…Offer?"

The Avenger adopted a charismatic smile. "Your nephew is a young man with many exceptional talents – talents that I would very much like to explore with him."

May couldn't even begin to process everything that was taking place. She knew better than anybody else about Peter's capabilities, but now Tony Stark – _the_ Tony Stark – was inquiring about her nephew as well? To 'explore his talents'? How did Tony Stark discover Peter of all teenagers? What had Peter done to capture the billionaire genius's attention and fascination?

Needless to say, this information was very overwhelming for the brunette woman. Rather than ask him to inquire more, May could produce no verbal response and instead continued to gaze at him, curiously and confused.

In response, Tony Stark presented a courteous smile before folding a knee over his leg. "Let's just say, I have a business proposition I'd like to discuss with him."


End file.
